


In My Blood

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confession, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Revelations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 17:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: She had known, of course, what her family was. Had known about her father for over a year now, and her mother for months. The dark, twisted secrets tangled through her bloodline were nothing new to her. Rittenhouse. Destruction. Death.And of course she had made the connection. Her family was part of the organization that destroyed his.





	In My Blood

**Author's Note:**

> ... Look. I asked my Tumblr followers if I should fluff post or angst, and the overwhelming majority voted for angst. You quite literally asked for this. Enjoy the ride! 
> 
> Also, I use two prompts from WrittenWolves: "Wow" and "I was in the neighborhood," as ways to say "I love you."
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.

Her fault.

All her fault.

She had known, of course, what her family was. Had known about her father for over a year now, and her mother for months. The dark, twisted secrets tangled through her bloodline were nothing new to her.  _ Rittenhouse. Destruction. Death. _

And of course she had made the connection. Her family was part of the organization that destroyed his. But she’d never thought-never even considered the possibility-

_ Her father. _

Of all the Rittenhouse leaders that could have given the order, her father was the man who chose to wipe Iris and Lorena Flynn from the face of this world. He may not have pulled the trigger himself, but their blood was on his hands, as surely as if he had. 

Emma had been the one to tell them, of course. With taunting smiles and icy eyes, and a sing-song observation. “He looks at you like you’re some kind of treasure, Princess. But now he knows the truth. Do you think he’ll even be able to look you in the eye?”

She hadn’t been brave enough to look. Had avoided  _ his _ eyes, his presence, as much as possible, afterward. He was too good to be true, and she knew it, but even he had to have his breaking point. And this? To know that she was the  _ daughter  _ of the man who had killed his? Well. Just as well she didn’t see the disgust, the hatred, aimed at her.

(He had called out to her, after. Said her name, voice ragged and desperate. But she’d gone to Wyatt, had asked him to keep Flynn away, and he was more than happy to oblige.) 

Now, she was back in the room that had become hers, studying the patterns on the walls. (Wyatt had given it to her, opting to sleep on the couch, rather than spend every night in the room he shared with Jessica. It was strange, crawling under the covers, smelling Jessica’s perfume and Wyatt’s cologne, but it was far, far better than the couch.)

_ Knock, knock. _

Soft. Tentative. So quiet that she almost thought she’d imagined it. 

She knew instinctively who it was, and pulled the blanket tighter around herself, steadfastly trying to ignore him. (Why was he  _ there? _ Was he  _ that  _ angry with her, that he would seek her out to tell her? Maybe she deserved it, but she wasn’t sure she could handle it, not after everything.) 

“Lucy?” His voice was rough. “Lucy,  _ please. _ ” 

Her mother. Wyatt. Rufus. Jiya. She’d let so many people down. What was one more? (But it was  _ him,  _ he’d believed in her from the start, had always seen the best in her, even when she hadn’t. “Very impressive,” he’d called her, but she wasn’t. She was a monster, from a family of monsters, and now he knew it too.) 

“We need to talk, Lucy.” His accent was thicker than normal, she noted. “I’ll talk through the door if I have to, but I…” Abruptly, he stopped, but she could just make out the sound of his unsteady breathing. “Please.” 

She believed him. If she didn’t let him in, he’d stay out there until he had his say. (It wasn’t in him, she thought, to lie to her.) 

Her throat was tight, and she could barely force the words out, but she managed, “It’s unlocked.” So quiet, she wasn’t sure he’d hear it, but he must have, because in the next instant, her door flew open, and he nearly tripped over his feet stumbling inside. There, he hesitated, just briefly, before closing the door behind him. 

He looked awful. As he made his way to her bedside, she studied him, desperately trying to stay calm. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his hair was in complete disarray, a clear sign he’d been running his hands through it. Too many expressions covered his face, and she could barely think what they all meant: Devastation, confusion, hurt, exhaustion, grief, and something almost like relief.

Relief. At her letting him in? What was it he wanted from her?

Abruptly, she remembered a conversation about her grandfather, from a lifetime before. _ “I thought you deserved to know…”  _

That’s what this was, she realized. Him once again being kind enough to warn her that he was going to destroy her bloodline. Last time, she’d fought it, had refused to give him her blessing. This time, she couldn’t even begin to justify that.

“It’s okay,” she assured him, before he could get a word out. He froze, blinking at her uncertainly. “I know what you have to do, and I-I understand.” Her voice broke against her will, but she forced herself to continue. “I won’t try to stop you. Just-” She had no right to ask this, no right to ask anything of him, but maybe he still held a little bit of good will toward her. “Take me with you when you go? I don’t want-”

“What,” he interrupted, brows furrowed, “ _ are  _ you talking about?” 

“When you go to kill him,” she clarified. “To save your family. I just-I can’t stand the thought of not… Existing. And I know you probably hate me-”

“Lucy-”

“But I’m begging you, please-”

_ “Lucy-” _

“Don’t erase me. If you want to kill me, I understand, but-”

“Lucy,  _ stop.” _ He grabbed her shoulders tightly, and her heart nearly stopped. She closed her eyes, bowing her head slightly, bracing herself. At least he’d make it quick, she thought. He was kind like that.

A long moment passed without anything happening, and then he released her. Startled, she looked up at him.

Tears glistened in his eyes, and raw hurt covered his face, shaking her to her soul. “Do you honestly believe,” he began, a little unsteadily, “that I would  _ hurt  _ you?” 

And, well… No, not really. Not her. She hadn’t believed that for a long time. But things were different now, and surely he understood that. She wasn’t just the woman who gave him the journal; she was part of the reason he needed it at all. “My father…” She started, but trailed off, as his face fell even farther. 

“I’m-I’m sorry,” he said finally, gaze fixed somewhere past her cheek. Maybe trying to meet her eyes, but failing. “I did give you every reason to think that, didn’t I? I’d hoped-” A humorless laugh. Then, he cleared his throat, changing courses. “I’m not going to hurt you, Lucy. Never again. And your father is safe; I’ll find another way to save my family.”

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of everything that he was saying. He wasn’t mad at her? Didn’t hate her? (But it was hard to focus when he was looking at her like that, like he’d lost everything. Broken, ashamed, and hopeless. And yet, somehow, not angry. Not with her.)

“I’ll give you some space.” He turned to the door, and panic shot through her. She reached out, grabbing his hand, and they both froze. Slowly, disbelieving, he turned back just enough to see the point of contact. Exhaled once, then waited. Watched. 

Truthfully, she hadn’t thought this through, had no idea where she wanted to go from here. All she knew was that she didn’t want him to leave her. “You don’t… Hate me?” She had to ask. Had to know.

After a breathless moment, he shook his head. “Never,” he promised fiercely. “Never. You’re not your father, Lucy. You’re…” He paused. Seemed to be gathering his courage for something. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

_ Why are you here? _

She’d kicked herself for months over the question. How insensitive, how caught up in her own problems did she have to be to forget why he was there? His family. They were his  _ reason, _ and everyone knew that. (Except now, he was telling her that it was  _ her?  _ How was she supposed to wrap her mind around that one?) 

Forcing herself to take a deep breath, she honed in on the important parts: He didn’t hate her, and he thought she was scared of him.

Suddenly, it was easy to slide off of the bed, to wrap her arms around his waist and bury her face in his chest. He stood motionless for several seconds, but then he sprang to life, clutching her to him, pressing his forehead to her hair. “I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered, and he stopped breathing altogether. “I just don’t see how you-how _ anyone _ -could look at me and not see… A monster.” 

He laughed, a soft, watery sound, and some of the tension in her chest eased, even as she frowned. That wasn’t exactly a joke, after all. “You’ve no idea,” he breathed, and she felt it as much as she heard it, a warm puff of air against her scalp. “No idea how much I-” The words seemed to catch in his throat. He said nothing more, just pressed a soft kiss to the top of her hair, holding her as close as he could.

And she knew, of course. Had known for some time that he felt more than friendship for her. (It was hard not to notice.) But the idea that he could still feel that way, after something like this…

She pulled back slightly, finally brave enough to meet his eyes. He was staring at her, awestruck, breathless, like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Like she was something wonderful, and powerful, and unbelievable-

What else was she going to do, but kiss him?

A broken noise slipped past his lips, and he was trembling as he returned the pressure, ever so softly. Then, he drew away, murmuring against her ear, “You don't-have to-” 

“I know.” Talking was hard, sometimes. She just wanted to kiss him again, to erase the past four hours from both of their minds and hearts, but she knew that wouldn't be fair to either of them. “But if I want to? Is that okay?” 

“Okay?” His voice shook. “Lucy…” Rather than answer aloud, he cupped the back of her head, guiding her back to his lips, impossibly gentle. His hands, calloused from guns and scarred from death, stroked her hair in silent reassurance. This time, when he pulled back, it was with an awed smile, and a breathless  _ “Wow.”  _

Overwhelmed, she rested her forehead against his collarbone, avoiding his eyes. He hummed, and seemed to understand without a word what she needed. (Didn't he always, these days?) “I'm here,” he promised her, cradling her in his arms. “I'm here.” 

“I'm glad you came,” she whispered, a little shyly. If he hadn't, she might have shut him out forever, and that would have only hurt both of them worse. Neither of them deserved to hurt anymore. 

“Well…” She could hear the smile in his voice, a hint of playfulness in spite of everything. “I was in the neighborhood.” 

She giggled, not quite believing her luck. Everything felt lighter, and after the draining pressures of the last few hours, his goofy joke seemed far funnier than it should have. (Not only did he not hate her, he was making her smile. Laugh. Even after everything, he l _ oved- _ ) 

The third kiss was the best so far.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy! I hoard reviews like a fanfiction dragon!


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